“The note…”
“She has been depressed…”
“But she was so smart, so practical!”
“Even the best of them lose their senses”
“But-“
“How-“
“Why-“
“Who-?”
I stood by the doorway, watching the crowd of people gathered around a table. They were discussing something. A suicide, I gathered, of a young girl. I wondered vaguely why she’d killed herself; I’d never understood suicidal people. I couldn’t imagine what would drive them to those extremes. Where was this place, anyways? It looked familiar, but I’d never seen it before.
A woman broke away from the crowd, sobbing. The mother, most likely. Probably someone had said something and she just couldn’t take it anymore. It happened plenty; the death of a daughter was surely a painful thing to deal with. I wondered if a suicide would be more or less painful to a mother. It was probably more painful just by the mental conflictions, and the knowledge that she’d been suffering so much in life and all.
I stepped up closer. Probably people would tell me to get out and go away, that it wasn’t my business, but I wanted to take part in this discussion. I was, after all, quite curious about suicides in general, and even more so about something close to me.
I peered down at the body. It was mine. Interesting; I’d apparently died. I looked down at my face. My eyes were closed. Too bad; I’d always liked my eyes best out of my face. My nose and hair looked as bad as usual. I was rather fond of this face, though, so I didn’t dwell too much on the negatives. After all, I wouldn’t be seeing it again for a long time. I looked down at my clothes, and remembered that outfit. It was my favorite skirt. Good. I was glad that my last outfit had been my best.
They thought I’d committed suicide, apparently. That was rather dimwitted of them; why would I commit suicide? I was happy in life. Sure, I had my problems, but who doesn’t? I was rather happier than most teenagers, in fact. Of course I hadn’t committed suicide.
I looked at the woman standing next to me. The woman who murdered me. I remembered how she’d held the knife to my back and forced me to swallow the pill. Of course, she must have wanted it to look like a suicide. I wondered why she’d wanted me dead so badly. I wasn’t the best student while I was in her class, but surely there must have been a motive outside of my bad grades. Curious.
Oh well. It hardly mattered now. I went up to my mother and father and waved them each goodbye. Then I turned around and walked into the light.
“She has been depressed…”
“But she was so smart, so practical!”
“Even the best of them lose their senses”
“But-“
“How-“
“Why-“
“Who-?”
I stood by the doorway, watching the crowd of people gathered around a table. They were discussing something. A suicide, I gathered, of a young girl. I wondered vaguely why she’d killed herself; I’d never understood suicidal people. I couldn’t imagine what would drive them to those extremes. Where was this place, anyways? It looked familiar, but I’d never seen it before.
A woman broke away from the crowd, sobbing. The mother, most likely. Probably someone had said something and she just couldn’t take it anymore. It happened plenty; the death of a daughter was surely a painful thing to deal with. I wondered if a suicide would be more or less painful to a mother. It was probably more painful just by the mental conflictions, and the knowledge that she’d been suffering so much in life and all.
I stepped up closer. Probably people would tell me to get out and go away, that it wasn’t my business, but I wanted to take part in this discussion. I was, after all, quite curious about suicides in general, and even more so about something close to me.
I peered down at the body. It was mine. Interesting; I’d apparently died. I looked down at my face. My eyes were closed. Too bad; I’d always liked my eyes best out of my face. My nose and hair looked as bad as usual. I was rather fond of this face, though, so I didn’t dwell too much on the negatives. After all, I wouldn’t be seeing it again for a long time. I looked down at my clothes, and remembered that outfit. It was my favorite skirt. Good. I was glad that my last outfit had been my best.
They thought I’d committed suicide, apparently. That was rather dimwitted of them; why would I commit suicide? I was happy in life. Sure, I had my problems, but who doesn’t? I was rather happier than most teenagers, in fact. Of course I hadn’t committed suicide.
I looked at the woman standing next to me. The woman who murdered me. I remembered how she’d held the knife to my back and forced me to swallow the pill. Of course, she must have wanted it to look like a suicide. I wondered why she’d wanted me dead so badly. I wasn’t the best student while I was in her class, but surely there must have been a motive outside of my bad grades. Curious.
Oh well. It hardly mattered now. I went up to my mother and father and waved them each goodbye. Then I turned around and walked into the light.
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